A Momentary Truce
by Bethe
Summary: The game is called off on account of rain... WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH! Rated M just to be on the safe side.


**A Momentary Truce**

**by Bethe**

**Disclaimer**: Not mine…although we wish they were, don't we, _preciousss_?

**Second Disclaimer**: CHARACTER DEATH! You have been warned.

**Author's Note**: Yes, I'm still alive. I know I haven't written much of anything in awhile, but… "life" is all I can say in my defense. I started writing this almost a year ago, but thanks to a crappy computer and a move to a different state, this story got kind of lost for awhile, as did most of my others. It's a bit different than what I usually write. I've gotten a bit more daring with my content and style. Major props to Nancy for being a super beta. Your comments, reading them a year later, really helped to kind of fill in the sparse parts. Thanks a ton, Nancers!

**OOOOO**

Lightning flashes, making the house bright and dark within a matter of moments. Miss Parker barely registers this. Her calf-length leather coat is the first to go. It drops to the floor, and she doesn't bother to pick it up. Next are the shoes that kill her feet, but make her legs look sculpted and add a dominating four inches to her height. With them off, she feels more human than Ice Queen, and that's strangely comforting. She doesn't turn the lights on; light would force her to face what she wishes to avoid. She rummages around in her desk drawers until she finds that one pack of cigarettes she had stashed away in case of emergencies. Tonight is definitely an emergency. 

She drains her glass, which is filled with the strongest booze that she could find in her alcoholic arsenal, and fills it up again. She wants to be numb. _Feelings not welcome here_, she thinks. Her suit jacket comes off next and she drapes it over the back of her aged sofa. Last is her gun, which she places in the drawer of the side table. Now she's left in only a silk camisole and her miniskirt, the last vestiges of her coat of armor. She lights up another cigarette; she has long since stopped caring that a stronger woman would have maintained her resolve to quit the nasty habit. Tonight she's weak, and she knows it.

She drains the drink in one quick swallow and grimaces against the hot trail it burns down her throat. Then she looks down into the empty crystal tumbler as she frowns, and wonders what she's become. She hasn't felt this vulnerable since Tommy died. Or maybe all those years ago when she lost her mother. She doesn't know anymore, and that scares her a little. She doesn't want to deal with this. Not now. Dealing with her own problems was never a strong suit.

A sharp flash of lightening is followed by thunder so loud it makes the floorboards rattle, then she hears her front door open and shut. She smirks without humor. Wouldn't that just be like the little lab rat to time his entrance for dramatic effect. She takes a drag and says, "Hello, Jarod." Clouds of smoke drift from her mouth with the words. He makes his way through the dark room to her side. He collapses onto the sofa next to her. She can feel the weariness coming off of him in waves.

He doesn't make snide remarks about her drinking, and he doesn't chide her about her smoking. Instead, he takes the cigarette from her hands and drags on it himself before handing it back to her. Lightning flashes again, and Parker can see him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He sighs and says, "I heard."

Parker can hear the ragged emotion in his voice; she knows it well. Sydney was just as much her mentor as he was Jarod's, despite her cool demeanor towards the old man. She snubs out her cigarette, refills her glass, and offers it to him. She flinches when he drains it without even grimacing. She gets up from the sofa and stands at the window, arms crossed over her stomach. She bites her lip and doesn't say anything. She doesn't have the words. She's afraid because she knows he wants something from her. That wherever Jarod _had_ been, he's moved heaven and earth to be with her now.

"How did he die?" Jarod rasps. His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it sounds like a scream amidst the blaring silence of the house. A shiver runs through Parker's body, and she hugs her arms closer to herself. He sounds defeated. He sounds just as weak and vulnerable as she feels.

"In his sleep," she replies. It's not a lie; she could never lie to Jarod. She clears her throat. "It was cancer. Nobody knew until it was too late." Loud thunder slices through the quiet. _Too late_, her mind echoes, and she curses herself for a fool. She had noticed him losing weight (_too much weight_), but had never said a word to him. Now it's too late and the man they both love and admire is dead.

"In his sleep," Jarod repeats slowly. "A luxury we'll never be given." He sounds much closer now, and Parker realizes he's right behind her as he rests his hands on her shoulders. She surprises herself by leaning back into his touch. He pauses for a moment; he's surprised too. Then he starts to rub the tense muscles there. Parker closes her eyes and doesn't open them again until she feels his lips on the side of her neck. She moans softly, a delicate noise that has no right coming from a throat which usually emits a predatory snarl in this man's presence.

Half of Parker silently shouts in protest. That half wants to pull away, to give him the cold shoulder; it's what she does best. '_This isn't right!_' her mind screams. '_Pull away and call in a Sweeper team_.' But her other half realizes that Sydney's death has stripped their labels of hunter and prey of their meaning, at least for now. They are two equally lost souls.

Parker doesn't want to be lost anymore. She decides to take this opportunity, this momentary truce, and find solace in the one person who understands her grief perfectly. She turns in his arms and finds his lips with her own. She doesn't want him to stop and rationalize. Earlier, she wanted to stop feeling. Now, with him here, she doesn't want to be numb. She's tired of being cold, and she's tired of being alone. She wants to put the mask away, if only for a little while.

She's the first to slide her tongue into his mouth, and he readily accepts it. She places his hand on her breast and wonders what it would be like to feel him inside her. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't stop. He takes her repositioning of his hand as a license to explore her body, and he does so thoroughly.

He slides his hands under her bottom, lifts her up, and she locks her ankles against his back. He carries her up the stairs to her room and lays her down on the bed. As he starts to undress her, her mind is racing. She's no longer the sexual predator, or the femme fatale. She's a woman desperate for something meaningful, something tender.

They begin to make love, and she keeps her eyes on his. She doesn't ever want to forget this feeling. She fears that it will be like the lightning outside: intense and incredibly bright one moment, and gone the next. She knows she fears correctly. Jarod's eyes are locked with hers and communicating something far deeper than words can convey. Parker can't quite wrap her head around the fact of her and Jarod in a relationship, nor does she try to. She doesn't want this pure and perfect moment to be ruined by speculation of a future which has no right to exist. She holds on to Jarod tighter than before and gives herself completely to him.

She falls asleep in his arms after it's over. When she wakes up two hours later, he's crying into her hair. She reaches up and strokes his face. She revels in the coarseness of the scruff that's beginning to grow there. She whispers, "I love you," into his ear and places a kiss on the mole just under his right eye. It's wet from his tears.

They make love once more in the moments just before dawn, and they climax together as the sun pokes its sleepy head over the horizon. He watches her as he's putting his clothes back on. She knows he's trying to memorize her this way; wrapped in white sheets and her hair disheveled. No more words are said, but they kiss once more. Her eyes stay closed. She's tired, so tired. She feels his fingers trail down her cheek with heartbreaking tenderness. He pulls the sheets closer to her chin, then runs his fingers down the length of her body once more, stopping at her toes. He squeezes her big toe slightly, and Parker's mouth curls up into a faint smile. The room grows still and the door is shut softly. In that place right after awake and just before sleep, she hears a car start and drive away.

**OOOOO**

**End.**


End file.
